


Misericordia

by Darth_Cannizard



Category: Joyeux Noël | Merry Christmas (2005)
Genre: Horstebert, M/M, Scarlet motif, World War I, sick!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Cannizard/pseuds/Darth_Cannizard
Summary: "This looks like blood poisoning," says Audebert thoughtfully.
Relationships: Lt Audebert/Lt Horstmayer (Joyeux Noël)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Misericordia

**Author's Note:**

> This is my answer to the prompt "sick!fic".

"The men showed pity and had not bayonetted those two," said Anquier to Audebert.

They are standing in the dugout in the german trench they just conquered. The injured german officer is lying on the bed. His aide-de-camp, _Jorge is his name_ , Audebert thinks, _or something similar_ , kneels next to the bed. The fear is clearly written on his face and his lips are trembling.

Audebert goes closer. The officer is much younger than himself, but apparently has the same rank. Camille admires the enemy for this fact, but not only because of that. The Germans have bravely held the position. Despite the cold, despite too little ammunition, despite the fact they were killed one by one by the french sniper. The _Oberleutnant_ wanted to surrender to save those who had survived until then, Camille knows that well, but Audebert's superiors believe that humanity shouldn't be given room in a war like this. The order to attack was given and the german trench was mercilessly overrun.

"What do we do with him?" asks his second-in-command, "he is badly wounded," adds Anquier, and, almost lovingly, touches his long knife, which he wears on his right hip. His knife, which is always thirsty for _Boche_ -blood.

"This looks like blood poisoning," says Audebert thoughtfully. It's the right thigh. The bandage is bloody, the bed he lies on bloodsmeared. The young enemy seems to run a high fever.

"Not that it's also contagious," grumbles Anquier. He obviously tries to force his superior's decision by pointing out the possibility of infection. _Make it short and painless_ , that's the sentence he wants to hear from Audebert. And maybe something like: _you can keep the other one as a slave, he looks educated, he will be useful to you._

But Camille is delaying the decision. He is almost hypnotized by the sight of the young german officer. The enemy is a beautiful man. Sensual in his helplessness. The bloodstained bandage, of all places, on the thigh.

Camille yearns to touch him. Yearns to make him his.

He would not be able to defend himself and no one would come to his aid. Spoils of war, the soldiers would say and shrug their shoulders. Nothing reprehensible and unusual in times of war. Nothing that Camille should be ashamed of later as an officer.

"Or would you like to first ...", Anquier leaves the sentence unfinished. He must have interpreted Camille's silence and his gaze correctly.

" _Bitte_ ," says the german soldier pleadingly, who until now has held his officer's hand, " _Bitte, ich tue alles, was Sie wollen, bitte tun Sie ihm nichts_."

"What does he say?" Anquier asks, grimacing angrily.

  
"I don't speak German," says Camille, "but he seems to be asking for mercy," he adds quietly.

  
_This war makes us all into monsters_ , Camille thinks darkly and ashamed of his previous thoughts and while he is still hesitating, Anquier starts to move and beckons for two of their men. "Take this one with you, as of now he belongs to our lieutenant." The men drag the struggling Jörg out into the open.

  
Anquier draws his knife turning to the seriously injured one, the intention to kill the officer clearly written on his grim face.

*

"It was the right decision, my son," General Audebert said to him that evening. It is late summer of 1919. The war is over. They sit together with friends and family in the garden of their summer house in a suburb of Paris. The table is richly set. Children and dogs run around them. The air is warm and full of the scents of ripe fruits, of the approaching harvest. Insects buzz around them.

"He is something very special. It was a stroke of fate that you decided to save him and made your claim on him," says the general, watching Karl Horstmayer, still limping slightly, walking around, looking happy and loved, his face clear and radiant, holding the general's grandchild lovingly in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This story assumes:  
> • that it was quite common to enslave prisoners of war in the First World War. Historically seen, of course, that's wrong.  
> • Camille and Karl did not meet during the Christmas Truce.  
> • furthermore, neither Camille nor Karl are married, like in the movie. And yes, I couldn't help it, Karl is a "Scarlet". 
> 
> Let this story be a ray of hope in a dark time. Let it be a story against Covid. It’s still up to the readers to decide whether this story is really a sick!fic and I fulfilled the prompt or not bc sickness is mentioned only briefly.


End file.
